Vol. 1 - Ch. 21 - The Battle of Flanders (2): Shadows in the Dark
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Mega Release:- Day 5/8
This chapter is broken. Please report this on discord.
Consider leaving a rating(or perhaps even a review if you feel like it…).
Mega Release:- Day 5/8
The two armies faced each other across the Ruria River. The mountainous region upstream had seen repeated clashes, with both sides alternating between attacks and retreats. The flat terrain along the calmer section of the river was open countryside, and any careless establishment of a stronghold there would inevitably lead to significant territorial losses. Thus, neither side could afford to divert forces without risking grave consequences.
William and his active-duty troops had been deployed to the mountainous front. Surrounding him were the capable young lions of Arcadia, most of whom were either superior to Carl in rank or exceeded him in experience.
"Well, well, Carl. You really are something fierce. As expected of the undefeated Sir Carl."
Both Gregor and Anselm, who had stood out at the party, had also been dispatched to this location. Slightly apart from them, Gilbert could be seen, accompanied by a centurion.
"Unfortunately, Hilda is on an eastern expedition, so she's not here."
Gregor prodded the fidgeting Carl, who responded with a strange expression, somewhere between relief and boredom. Behind him, Frank and Ignatz were grinning.
"As always, your achievements are impressive. Well done, Sir William."
Anselm approached, seeking a handshake, which William accepted with a troubled expression.
"It is thanks to Sir Carl."
Anselm muttered something that no one quite caught, and he didn't seem to intend for it to be heard.
"This is your forte, mountain warfare, but how will you fight, Sir Carl?"
"Uh... I haven't really thought about it yet. We don't know the enemy's formation either."
"Let's be going, Sir Carl. We must greet the legion commander. You two, we shall talk again later. There is much to discuss."
Withdrawing before any weaknesses were exposed, William recognized that while Carl had acquired some basic military strategy, he still lacked the experience to decisively implement tactics in actual combat. Commanding the century-strong core unit, Carl was deficient in both practical knowledge and experience, which William found rather undesirable.
"Alright, catch you later, Carl! Next time, let's have a meal with Rutgard, okay bro?"
Gregor's comment, delivered in a tone that made it unclear whether he was serious or joking, elicited a troubled expression from Carl.
"...Then, see you later."
Anselm's gaze remained fixed on William, who, aware of it, averted his eyes. William couldn't help but wonder if Anselm was plotting something or if there was some concern weighing on his mind, but he knew he couldn't act on mere speculation. Still, he felt Anselm's movements warranted close observation.
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After greeting the legion commander, William and his group took up their assigned positions. Focusing on William's team, Anselm and Gregor were stationed on the flanks, while Gilbert was placed further downstream. The evaluations showed Anselm on the far upstream side and Gilbert on the downstream side as the strongest positions.
"Our task is clear. We must push our formation across the enemy's border and into their territory, making the mountain troops the spearhead. That's why the promising young soldiers have been concentrated here. Maintaining the status quo is not enough. They expect results."
The legion commander was also a young individual, and this battlefield was where the hopes and expectations were centered. Defeat was simply unacceptable. Even if it meant exposing weaknesses to other nations, this much talent had been gathered. Victory was a given— it was now a matter of how to win.
"What are the characteristics of mountain warfare? Refresh my memory, Carl."
It was just Carl and William here, as Frank and Ignatz were organizing their troops outside.
"Hmm... First, the numerical advantage is smaller compared to open terrain, there's elevation changes that require attention to terrain, and the focus is on infantry with less mobility. How's that?"
William smiled, and Carl's face brightened at the response.
"You've got the broad strokes. Of course, there are countless finer details, but the gist is that nature is the main adversary. Possessing detailed maps and a deeper understanding of the terrain is key to victory. However, this is not a minor battlefield— it's a site where Arcadia and Nederkus have clashed many times. Both sides likely have a thorough grasp of the terrain."
While William typically invested significant effort into terrain awareness, this time it was unnecessary, as both armies were intimately familiar with the geography. Detailed maps were readily available and inexpensive to obtain.
"So, where can we gain the advantage? Do you know?"
Carl tilted his head, having ceased to think and simply awaiting William's answer. This action was characteristic of Carl, whose core had remained unchanged despite his growth.
"The advantage we must seize is 'speed.’"
William smiled knowingly.
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"Speed is the key advantage we must seize."
Across the Ruria River in the mountainous region, the dark force stood on the opposite bank. At its center was a man clad in black fur and armor, his presence radiating a wolf-like aura. He was known as the "Black Wolf", Volf.
"Huh? Mobility is limited in the mountains, right? So why bother going there? We can just steamroll them with brute force!"
Volf gave Nika a look of disdain, sighing at her lack of insight.
"That's precisely why, Nika. Because mobility is limited, the value of speed becomes paramount. In a situation where both sides know the terrain well, the one who can secure the better positions depends on speed— speed of deployment, speed of initiative, and coordinated speed with other forces."
Nika clapped her hands, understanding dawning on her face, though she likely didn't truly grasp the concepts.
"So the opening moves are crucial. But we're missing a crucial element."
"Coordination with other forces, isn't it?"
As Volf delved into the tactical discussion, Nika had already started fishing nearby, completely disinterested in the conversation. Volf sighed deeply at the familiar sight.
"Yeah, that's our guy's job. We don't have the standing to get through to them. Coordination is impossible."
"Nederkus values formality above all else in the Seven Kingdoms... It's not an easy fit for mercenaries like us."
The Nederkus forces were currently pushing into the mountain region, but they were failing to capitalize on their advantage. If Volf had command of the entire army, he would have aggressively consumed their forces and seized the mountain terrain itself in a single decisive blow.
"The commander is so damn cautious. Being too outstanding just leads to isolation— how ridiculous! These mountains are natural strongholds. Once you take them, isolation doesn't matter. But this incompetent fool in charge can't do that."
Volf made a displeased expression.
"The conservative nature of Nederkus is showing. They fear mistakes too much."
"The worst part is that the opposition is composed of young talents... They'll be relentless."
While Arcadia also had a conservative streak, their army of young soldiers would press the attack. Arcadia's current momentum was strong enough to overlook minor mistakes.
"The opening battles will likely be losses. But that's fine... My goal is the 'White Mask.’"
Suddenly, Nika turned around and threw her knife, nearly striking Volf's trajectory. Volf flinched, his cheek twitching.
"You're still after those boobs, aren't you?! Is that all you care about, you bastard?!"
Nika was still holding a grudge over the "boobs transaction" (as she called it). For Volf, it was partly in jest, but he did have an undeniable love for breasts.
"Calm down. Boobs aside, capturing the 'White Mask' centurion would get us one of Nederkus' three nobles. He's undoubtedly a remarkable individual, if difficult to handle. Heh heh, we'll figure it out as we go."
The two soon descended into a comedic back-and-forth, and the serious discussion came to an end. Volf had likely abandoned the initial battles, which is why he was on the Nederkus side of the river, despite their advance.
"At this point, it's time to be thorough... You truly are a cunning man, like a wolf."
The Arcadian side didn't yet know that a pack of wolves had infiltrated their ranks. When their victory was assured, the wolves' fangs would tear into their throats. Volf could see that gruesome scene.
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Arcadia's initial move was swift. Just as Anselm on the right flank made his push, Gregor on the opposite side surged forward, leaving the center vulnerable. Carl's team then decisively broke through this weak point— a plan decided the previous day at the war council, where Carl's proposal had garnered the support of Anselm and Gregor.
The only one dissatisfied was Gilbert. However, it was still too early to move the crucial Gilbert, who connected the mountain and plain forces. Speed was important, but they couldn't afford to create openings.
Unfortunately, the initial assault failed to completely unravel the enemy.
The center's resilience had been considerable.
"Tch," William clearly expressed his displeasure. He had been unable to finish off the rearguard soldier he had been engaged with, ending the day's fighting unsatisfied. But it couldn't be helped— the opponent he faced was Anatole, the "Weeping Spear", one of Nederkus' Three Noble Lances, a renowned master of the spear.
As the legion commander of this force, Anatole was tactically conservative and methodical, some would say rigidly so. But in one-on-one combat, he was one of Nederkus' finest. The fact that the center had held and they had not broken through was entirely due to Anatole.
"He's not unmanageable, but not to be taken lightly either," Anatole assessed William's abilities. For now, he could still keep William in check, but he couldn't predict how much the young man would grow.
"I can see why Lord Rudolph said he should be plucked," Anatole mused. However, he didn't feel Rudolph needed to personally intervene— this level of opponent was common in the world. Anatole saw no exceptional qualities that required a report to Rainberka.
If Anatole had been more versed in tactics and perceptive of William's other aspects, he might have devised countermeasures. Alas, while Anatole could discern raw power, he lacked the ability to fully grasp the "power" William possessed.
If only the "Black Mercenary Corps (Noir Garou)" had been deployed today, they might have been able to avoid the hell that was about to befall Nederkus' side.
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Day after day, the defeats mounted. This stark reality weighed heavily on Anatole. The positions they had been pushing were now barely holding at the foothills across the river. Anatole himself tried to spearhead a decisive counterattack, but the Arcadians thoroughly evaded him. He couldn't break through alone without being surrounded, and their refusal to engage him robbed him of his solo striking power.
"This is the brilliant strategy of Carl von Taylor, is it not? Most impressive."
One of Anselm's subordinates praised the tactician who had proposed this approach.
"Indeed... an impressive strategy," Anselm responded flatly, his intentions inscrutable. But he carried out his duties flawlessly— the eldest son of the renowned Kruger family was a well-balanced centurion, possessing both skill and wisdom.
"My unit, listen well. There is no need to hurry, but move to decisively break through today."
Today, they would secure the mountains. This would decide the course of the battle.
"Alright! Let's crush them in one fell swoop!"
Leading the relentless charge was Gregor's unit. Their fiery advance was unstoppable, their momentum unaffected even in the mountain terrain without cavalry.
"Lord Gregor, aren't you pushing a little too far?"
Hearing the timid remark from his subordinate, Gregor brushed it off with a derisive laugh.
"Fool. What use is retreating from a victorious battle? I, Gregor von Thunder, shall be the first to bring down the enemy lines and claim the foremost glory– not Gilbert, not Hilda, not Anselm, nor even Carl!"
Gregor's face was alight with ambition, his true self shining through.
Gilbert remained immobile. When Gilbert, the linchpin between the mountains and plains, moved, the battle would be decided. His reason for not moving now was precisely that— Carl's proposal had not included a strategy for mobilizing Gilbert. And Gilbert himself had no intention of moving.
"Sir Gilbert, are you certain you should not move?"
Gilbert responded with a dissatisfied expression.
"It irks me to agree with that base man... but now is not the time to move. That is all."
Gilbert snorted, surveying the battlefield. If Nederkus was to make a move, this was the only chance. If he didn't act here, it would be all over. And yet—
"Truly, I cannot bring myself to like that aspect of him."
That particular part of the plan remained sluggish.
༺༻
"Well now, Lord Anatole, are you ready to rely on us yet?" The dark group appeared before the hard-pressed Anatole.
"You wretches! What are you slacking off for! If you are hired by my army, then show the appropriate effort!"
Hearing this, the group's leader burst out laughing.
"Haha! Precisely! We are hired hands. If things get troublesome, we can just up and leave. Drinking while watching your forces get annihilated wouldn't be so bad either."
Anatole's spear growled menacingly towards the man's throat— the eerie, mournful sound of the "Weeping Spear", feared even in neighboring countries.
Clang. The blow was intercepted by two people standing next to the man— a woman who looked like a man, and a man who looked like a woman. Anatole's eyes widened. This was a man who had risen through the ranks using Anatole's own spear.
"Let me be clear, we're strong. We can still turn the situation around from here. But if you all keep doing whatever you want, even we won't be able to win. There's one condition for us to help you win this battle. Decide whether you'll accept it or not."
Anatole was in a no-win situation. If he lost here, his head would surely be separated from his body. And his entire clan might be wiped out. Rudolph wouldn't hesitate to do so, and even if he survived, he'd be living in humiliation.
"...Can you win?"
"Of course. Who do you think we are?"
In this dire situation, with no other options,
"...State your conditions."
Everything had gone according to the "Black Wolf's" plan so far. And from here on as well—
"The condition is—"